


Ugly Yellow Shirts

by Technical Difficulties (AggressiveStress)



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Dan is quiet and hates everyone but Phil, Dan is really obsessed with Phil, F/F, F/M, Highschool AU, M/M, Phil is popular, but there will be plenty of smut, i haven't decided on Troyler or Tronnor yet, it may be really cute
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-12-21 12:14:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11943972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AggressiveStress/pseuds/Technical%20Difficulties
Summary: Phil Lester is very confusing but Dan Howell loves him anyway.





	Ugly Yellow Shirts

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! I don't know what I'm doing writing this when I'm supposed to be adulting but I thought it'd be cute especially if you're looking for an extraordinary but kind of cliche plot line. It's cute!! Read it!! I love you weirdos!
> 
> xox- M
> 
> PS: first chapter does contain a lil smut :)

**Dan POV**

 

He’s kind of gorgeous. Even wearing the stupidly bright yellow camp t-shirt like everyone else, he still managed to be the most attractive person in the entire gym, which is saying something considering there are about 100 teenagers squished in this one room. As always, he’s surrounded by people in the middle of the gym, laughing and speaking with as many as possible at once; I wondered what it would be like to be a part of that circle. Meanwhile, I’m stuck in the bleachers between the two outcasts of camp who never take their eyes off of their phones; the distant daydreaming is extreme in this situation. Or, it was, but then he  suddenly looks up and his eyes scan across the gym, bouncing across the dozens of heads that surround him. Before I realize it, his eyes have fallen right in my direction, and his smile gets bigger and he winks and my heart races triple the usual rate.

Five minutes later and my back is being shoved up against the wall of the locker room, Phil Lester’s hands on either side of my face as his mouth slowly works me into thinking I may just fall apart. He’s grabbing onto my thighs and lifting me so my legs are wrapped around his waist and he’s grabbing the end of my shirt and tugging it off, letting it fall to the cold tile of the floor without caring where it ends up. I don’t argue, I don’t even know how I got here, but I’m loving the way he presses his mouth from mine to down my neck (making me nearly squeal and jump away but I suppress those urges) and then across my shoulder and collarbone like he cares so much about me and my comfortableness. Up until 10 minutes ago, I was so sure- like everyone else in school and in camp -that Phil Lester was as straight as they come.

Obviously, that was a very wrong assumption.

“You’re driving me wild,” Phil says into my neck. I don’t get the time to contemplate that because I’m suddenly laying on the ground and he’s on top of me and he’s kissing down my front and I’m grabbing his hair and mewling.

It’s hot and insane and I don’t know if I can keep up, but I’m doing my very best because he’s enjoying it and I’m starting to get very interested in the situation. His mouth is heavy, punishing against mine, but it’s fine because I let him in without any argument. For a second, just a split second, everything slows down and he connects his beautiful eyes with me and, for that second, he looks regretful but happy and I’m confused but then his hands are on me again and my mind goes blank. He’s unbuttoning my jeans and I’m desperately throwing that stupidly bright shirt as far away as I can get it and his fingers are everywhere and my back is arching. The ground is cold and hard but he gathers all our clothes and puts them under me, his knees on either side of my body and my face red as he studies me like I’m the most interesting specimen of a teenage guy. 

He doesn’t connect our gazes again.

We have to hurry. The end of camp meeting will soon be over and we’ll be missing, they’ll come looking for us, but it seems Phil realizes this too. He doesn’t spend any time in shedding the last of my clothes and then his hand is around my dick and I’ve really lost any and all hope of being able to speak. My mouth works in small increments of “fuck” and “yes” and “ _ Jesus _ ” and “don’t stop” and “so great” which is just sad because he hasn’t actually done anything yet. I do this to myself way too much, but it’s different because he leans down and he licks at the head and his hand is smooth and steady. His eyes still don’t find mine but that’s okay because I squeeze mine shut at some point anyway. My body is heating up and I want to cum, but then his hand is gone and his jeans are being tucked under my head and my heart stops for a total of 3.4 seconds.

I open my eyes, slowly, and manage to just barely stutter out, “Fuck.”

He laughs, softly, and reaches out to grab my hand. The next good 15 minutes is filled with me squirming, awkward as always but managing to jerk him off without much issue, and he kisses me again. It’s amazing but gets twenty times better when he uses one hand to pin both of mine above my head and then uses the other to take both of us in it at the same time. He thrusts into his own hand. The sensation that came from him just rubbing against me like that is absolutely mind-numbing; I arch up again and I want to hold onto him somehow but my hands are pinned. The torturing urge to touch him is overwhelmed by my new adoration with being held down like this. During all of this, he doesn’t take his mouth from mine. His tongue is like the sweetest of ice pops, and I’m desperate to get as many tastes as I can.

My body naturally fights against his grip at one point and I swear he growled just a little, in the very base of his throat. Either way, my dick twitches at the noise. He kisses from my mouth to my neck; I squeak when his teeth lightly bite into the sensitive skin. He sucks at it, nips at it, licks over it like a cat that cleans itself; his hand doesn’t lose its rhythm. My entire being is buzzing, is heating up at his touch, and I don’t want it to end. I want us to be somewhere else, somewhere we can do this without me worrying about what would happen if that locker fell over or if someone barged in; somewhere we could take our time. Although, this is Phil Lester, straight guy Phil Lester, and so I’ll just take what I can get while I still can. 

I finish first, moaning at an alarmingly loud volume, my eyes rolling back, my toes curling, my breathing turning into short, quick pants. He kisses the moans from my mouth. My hands are released so I take over for Phil, his hand moving away when mine wraps around him, nervously taking up the same pace, flicking my wrist when appropriate and hoping he doesn’t mind me taking charge. It takes a minute longer than I expected for Phil to cum but, when he does, I can feel it happening. His entire body shakes and his lips disconnect from mine but hover, just barely a touch, so his heavy breathing ghosts across my lips. All I can think of then is tasting him, but I resist long enough for him to, very slowly, get to his feet. While he’s searching for his boxers, I suck two of my fingers clean.

It’s a bit salty but tastes more like pineapple than anything; I lick off a bit more from my fingers then rub the rest off on my own horridly yellow camp t-shirt, also using the ugly cloth to wipe my own cum from my chest. I don’t know how to break the silence as we get dressed, my heart still racing from one of the best orgasms I’ve ever had, and my mind muddled. I still can’t see how any of this just happened. I’m zipping up my black jacket, covering the stain at the bottom of the shirt, when Phil comes up behind me, his arms wrapping around my waist. Even after that, he smells amazing and his hair is soft against my cheek and his arms are steady around me, making me feel safe. He doesn’t say anything at first, just hugs me, presses a kiss to my temple, whispers something hurriedly, then turns and I hear the locker room door shut quietly behind him.

Later, after I’ve recovered and made my way back to my cabin to grab my stuff, my mum picks me up at the front of the camp, her smile big and welcoming, and she chats all the way home about how she hopes the camp was a learning experience for me. The only thing I can think about, though, are those last words Phil muttered: “Don’t tell anyone.”


End file.
